


Accidentally Falling On Purpose

by Areiton



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Conventions, Drinking, Drunk Jensen, Hand Jobs, M/M, On Set, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-10-30 00:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: The first time it happens, it’s not planned. But then it happens again. And every time it does--it gets harder to deny. This means something.





	1. Chapter 1

The first time it happens, it's not planned. They're in Phoenix, after a con. Jensen is laughing, riding the high of performance, listening to the whispers of whiskey. He’s gorgeous like this, a kind of shiny beautiful that Misha rarely sees and always appreciates.

Maybe it’s not so strange, that it happened at all. Maybe it was always inevitable, the natural conclusion to years of tension and flirting, to _wanting_ what wasn’t  his to have. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about it, about what Jensen would look like, spread out on his bed, bright eyed and begging.

He didn’t allow his mind to go there, often--but he’s honest enough with himself to admit the fantasy is there.

After the Saturday night special, and playing rockstar for the fans, Jensen dragged Jared and Misha to a bar a few blocks away and proceeded to get blind drunk. Misha sits on his side of the booth and watches, amused as they get louder and more ridiculous.

It's cute, in an annoying way.

Misha always feels a little outside and _other_ when he's with Jared and Jensen, even after all the years they’ve worked together and the friendships that sprung up out of necessity and grew because they actually _like_ each other. He’s still surprised by that.  

But here, while they drank and he nursed a beer, some of that fell away, and they were Jared and Jensen and Misha. They are just three friends.

Jared badgers him for a while to get drunk with them, but _someone_ has to be responsible tonight. That Misha Collins is the one that fell to says something truly awful about the state of things.

Still, it's amusing. Even drunk, Jared is quick enough to keep up with Misha's wit, and Jensen is so loose and happy he's barely recognizable. The tight control and restrained smile, the constant thoughtful crease in his brow and weighing every action and word--all of it falls away here, pinned between beer and brother and Misha’s blue gaze. It’s strange and addictive, and Misha admits, privately, this side of Jensen is why he comes out. To get a glimpse of him that is so rarely seen.

The way his gaze keeps snagging on Misha sure as hell isn’t normal.

It's not completely new, Jensen watching him. He's seen it on set and the curious, heavy looks after intense scenes. There was the too hot gaze in Jensen's eyes when Misha stumbled out of his trailer after a particularly loud blow job from Vicki.

So he knows. He catches it and files it away, dismisses it fairly easily because Jensen is pretty with a mouth made to fuck but he's also straight as an arrow, a friend and a coworker.

He could be a big gay experiment, if it weren't for those last two.

Still. Tonight feels heavy. Different. The gazes aren't as shy and covert. He outright leers a few time, whiskey addled and high on performing.

It's only when Jared gets pulled away by a sleepy Gen does Misha realize that this has dangerous potential.

"Come on," he orders, shoving out of the booth they’re in. "You have to at least pretend to be sober in the morning."

"Not your job to take care of me," Jensen objects, his frown so cute it borders on a pout. He stumbles a little as he gets up and Misha wedges himself under his shoulder, balancing him.

Misha breathes a laugh and shakes his head. Reminds himself this would be a very bad idea. "Tonight it is. Come on."

It's work to get Jensen back to the hotel and up the elevator. He's always been handsy, something Misha genuinely enjoys. He's tactile, and Jensen being comfortable enough to invade his space is strangely reassuring, on set and in private and on stage. But it’s never meant anything, something he reminds himself of often enough that he actually believes it.

But. This feels different. There’s an _intent_ behind it that twists in his gut and stirs his dick.

Jensen leans into him as Misha wrestles him upright and attempts to unlock the door. Long years of misspent youth makes the impossible merely difficult and then they fall into the room, propelled by relief and heavy weight.

None of which explains _how_ Misha ends up pressed against the wall, Jensen at his back, all of that coiled strength pinning him and lush lips skimming his neck, the wet heat Jen’s tongue tracing over the curve of his ear.

Oh, fuck, this is a bad idea.

"Jen," Misha says and his voice is a shaky question that Jensen answers with teeth pressing down, a delicate bite on the curve of his neck paired with a dirty grind of his hips.

It draws a moan from Misha and a gasp when Jensen's hot tongue traces the skin before he sucks, _hard_ , demanding and Misha's jerks, feeling the draw all the way down to his dick.

"Fuck, Jen," he groans and Jensen grinds against his ass, a hard roll of his hips. Laughs low and fucking filthy in his ear.

"That's the idea, Mish."

The hand that sneaks around his hip shocks him and he knows. He fucking _knows_ he should stop this. But he doesn't.

Maybe it's because Jensen _has_ watched him for so long.

Maybe it's because this hotel in this city feels separate from the world and reality.

Maybe it's because he's buzzed and knows Jen is drunk and people do stupid shit drunk, everyone knows that. But Jensen catches his jaw and turns his head, kisses him like he's been dying for it, like this is his one last wish, and somehow he takes something sweet and turns it dirty, sucking marks into his neck.

Misha curses when he feels hands at his belt, and Jensen grins, drunk and wicked, before leaning in again and licking the stuttered sound from Misha’s mouth. He stays there as he pushes Misha’s pants down. Misha has a moment to think _abort_ before Jensen makes a noise, an almost sinful sigh, and wraps a hand around him.

He wants to watch almost as bad as he wants to let his head fall back, soak up the fucking perfection of it.

Jensen thrusts against his ass as his big hot hand wraps around Misha's cock and jerks him off, his grip slippery and just the right side of rough, dragging him right to the fucking edge. He swears, a low chant as Jensen rocks against his ass, so damn close to hwere he _wants_ Misha almost begs for it.

Then Jensen gasps, his name, and shoves against him, hard. Twists his hand and bites down on his shoulder and that's it.

It's all fucking over, as Misha let's go with a low wail, "fuuuckk-- _Jen_!"

He comes hot and wet against the wall, pinned by the slow grind of Jensen’s hips as they stutter and roll against him, by the heat of his come on Misha’s back, by the way he groans the prettiest curses in Misha’s ear.

When he can breath, all he can smell is beer and sex and the hint of Jen’s sweat and all he can feel is wet and Jensen and pleasure.

Panic is clawing at him. Shit. Shit. _shiiiiit_.

Jensen mumbles something, low and sleepy and trips to his bed “Misha,” he sighs, “c’mere.”

Misha watches him, wide eyed and debauched, as his straight friend and coworker passes out on the bed, hand still wet with Misha’s come.

“Shit,” he mutters.  

Misha is shaking when he curls on the couch, watching Jensen sleep the happy sleep of the very drunk and the sexually satisfied.

There are a lot of things he could blame this on. But if he's honest with himself--and he does try to be, all evidence to the contrary--the truth is he wanted this.


	2. Chapter 2

The thing is. When you wake up covered in dried come and hungover--especially when your fiancee is several states away and your best friend is asleep on the couch in the same fucking state--you've got a few options. 

Jensen, being the brilliant guy he is, does the best options: he fucking runs. 

He bolts from the room, crashes in on Gen and Jared (and thank fuck Jared had the good sense to hook up with a goddamned  _ saint _ ) and proceeds to spend the rest of the weekend and most of the week hiding from Misha. 

When they are forced together, Jensen is a fucking mess, tripping over his lines, jumping when Misha came too close, blushing like a fucking virgin every time they made eye contact. 

Misha was steady though. He watched with this endless well of patience, always calm and utterly professional. Until the days and weeks slip by and it occurs to Jensen that Misha isn't going to bring it up. 

Which means he's dodged a bullet. 

Right. 

Because there's a dozen reasons he can think of that getting involved with Misha is a bad idea and that's without even trying. 

Danneel is a damn good reason. 

But. 

He doesn't even  _ remember _ it. He got off with Misha and he still doesn't know what the fuck he tastes like. What he feels like. 

How he sounds, when he comes. And it’s pissing him off.

Danneel knows something is bothering him, and when he says, shortly, that it's Misha, her pretty eyes narrow in consideration. 

"You should talk to him. Just you two. Get it out of your system."

She kissed his cheek and left him there, in the middle of his trailer, wondering what the hell she knew and if she was actually giving him a pass. 

No. 

Because she didn't know. She couldn't know. 

Dee couldn't know how much Jensen wanted Misha when he was barely able to admit it to himself. 

It happens two weeks after Danneel's cryptic statement and more than a month after the incident in Phoenix. 

They film a scene that pulls at all the fans favorite Destiel subtext. Standing too close, eye contact too intense, a little rough handling as Dean tries to subdue an angel. It's when he's got Cas pushed up against the wall that he feels it. 

Misha is hard in his pants, panting as he fights  Jensen's grip and he can feel it, the phantom of Misha against the wall, fighting against him and thrusting back, the give of skin under teeth and lips. The strung out moans and slide of his hand on Misha's dick.

Oh. 

Oh  _ fuck _ . 

"I need a minute," he yells, without looking away from those blue fucking eyes, at how blown to hell they are and the way Misha's lips hover too close. 

It feels very far away, the director yelling cut, and he stumbles back a step. 

Misha is the one who runs this time. Pushes past Jensen in a rush of angelic fury and rumpled trench and desperation. 

Jensen retreats. Because he needs to. He needs to give Mish space and he needs to fucking wrap his head around it. All of the things he thought he missed, that they've both ignored. 

He doesn't think he can keep ignoring it. 

Not now that he can fucking remembered it. 

"Fuck it," Jensen mutters under his breath and shoves out of his trailer, jogging the short distance to Misha's. Bangs on the door twice and steps inside without waiting for an invite. 

Castiel’s coat and shoes are kicked off by his couch, because he's a messy fucker. 

He kinda grins and steps into the back room. 

And freezes. 

Misha, sprawled on the hard bed, is naked from the waist down, his shirt unbuttoned. He's hard and jerking himself off, slow and languid. 

He looks fucking gorgeous, utterly wrecked and Jensen wants him. 

Even knowing its a bad idea and that it's ten kinds of wrong, he  _ wants _ . 

"Mish," he breathes, and Misha groans, hips jerking as he strokes himself. 

His eyes open, lust blown and so fucking hungry. Jensen thinks about it, for a half second, before Misha moans again, and then he decides. 

He knows it even as he does it. It's a choice. When his lips find Misha's and he nips that pouting lower lip, it's a choice. 

When he takes a fistful of hair and pulls his head back, licking into his mouth, hot and hungry, that's a choice. 

When he slaps Misha's hand away and takes his cock in hand swallows the other man's deep groan. That's a choice too. It's all something Jensen chooses, until he's too busy fighting to keep Misha pinned and jacking him off to think anymore. 

The thing is, Misha is desperate for it, his hips shifting under Jensen's hold, fingers digging hard into his arms as he bites his lip and struggles not to fall apart. 

And isn't  _ that _ amazing. Misha fucking Collins, always calm and collected, so untouchable, is falling apart, his hands scrambling for him, completely undone by Jensen's touch. 

"Jen," Misha gasps, arching and fuck it all, he wants more. Wants Misha's cock in his mouth, fingers in his hair while he fucked Jay's mouth. He wants to fuck him, a want so visceral and strong he almost groans, has to shift to press against his cock just to get a little control. 

"Misha, I want to fuck you," he whispers against the skin of Misha's throat, tasting the salty sweat, the way his muscles shift under Jensen’s lips, the way his breath hitches when he uses his teeth, thick cock jerking in Jensen's hand. 

"Can I?" he murmurs. 

"Please. God, Jen,  _ please _ !" 

He smiles then and brings his fingers up, tapping them against lips bitten pink and pouty. 

And Misha opens for him. Takes his fingers in the wet heat of his mouth without hesitation, almost desperate for them, sucking hard. His tongue traces Jen's fingers and his eyes hold Jen’s. 

"Fuck, Mish," Jensen breathes and Misha smirks, this wicked dirty thing that would bring Jensen to his knees if he weren't already there. He twists his hand on Misha's cock and pumps him twice and Misha twitches under him and catches the fat ball of his finger between his teeth. 

Jensen's breath catches and his hand flies to Misha's hip, gripping hard and pressing him down. 

And Misha melts, licking over the bitten finger and sinking into the bed, almost boneless in his submission. 

Jensen knows Misha is strong. They joke that he's the little guy but he's under no illusions. The guy could take control with no effort at all, and he doesn't. He lets Jensen control him. 

So fuck it. If they get this one time, if he gets this control this one time. 

He's going to take Misha to pieces. 

Jensen rubs his thumb under Misha jaw, catching along stubble and then leans down, sliding his fingers free and kissing that wet mouth. 

This is a bad idea. 

He knows it, even if he's wanted it for almost as long as he's known Misha. But he's always known it was a bad idea. 

Not cause of the guy thing. He'd fucked men before. 

It was because Misha was dangerous. 

Jensen's always known if he got him once, he'd want him forever. 

Misha hisses as Jensen trails his finger down, a wet path that bypasses slides over his cock, a quick wet caress before going lower. 

Misha sighs and braces his feet on the bed, letting his legs fall open. Jensen watches, his mouth dry. 

There's something artless and innocent about it, a kind of purity to the way Misha owns this moment and what he wants. 

It's kinda amazing. 

And it sucks the breath right out of him when Misha whines under his heavy gaze. 

He dips down without thinking and licks quick over him and Misha makes this noise that *Jesus, it's perfection. His eyes close and he does it again, tongue dancing quick and light over Misha's hole, teasing as he writhes on the bed.

Jensen's grip on his hip tightens once and Misha stills, utterly motionless except for the tight little shaking he can't quite control and the hands, fisting in the sheets as Jen settles to his task. 

He hasn't done this before, and he's pretty sure it shows, with the wet licks and the tentative press of his tongue against Misha, but it doesn't seem to matter. And when Jensen seals his lips over Misha's shiny hole and sucks, just a little. 

Misha looses his fucking mind. 

"Jen, please fucking do it, please,  _ please _ ," he begs and Jensen lifts his head to grin up at him. Miles of muscle and sun gold skin, wild blue eyes and hair fucked to hell and back and Jesus, he's perfect like this. When Jensen presses into him with one finger, Misha groans, long and soft, climbing until it's almost a keen and then it breaks on a sob when he pulls back slowly. It takes a few tries because all Jensen can think about is how impossibly tight Misha is, how hot and smooth and how he really. Really. Wants to fuck him. 

"Wanna fuck you, Mish," he says, almost conversationally, and Misha moans, nods frantically against the pillow. 

"Yeah, baby, yeah. Please." 

Jensen breathes a laugh and adds another finger as he leans back down. “Next time.” he promises. 

He thrusts hard and Misha screams, hips jerking off the bed, his whole body tightening around Jen’s fingers as he comes in a hot wet wave against Jensen's face. 

For a long moment, Jensen can't do anything. It's too much, too hot, too  _ everything _ and if he moves, he's gonna come and he can't explain that to wardrobe. 

So he doesn't. He stay still and watches Misha coming apart for him.

When Misha can function again he gives Jen this smile Jensen's never seen before. Kinda sweet and kinda shy and so fucking content it hurts. "Sorry," he breathes and  _ that  _ does move Jensen. 

He leans over, watching blue eyes get bigger and more curious, until he's close enough that they're sharing breath. 

"Don't be." Jensen murmurs. "But you are gonna clean it up." 

Something warm and wicked lights up Misha's gaze and he wiggles up enough to sit up and catch Jen's face, and carefully. So fucking carefully, licks it clean. 

When he kisses Jensen, deep and dirty and perfect, Jensen decides that this might be fucking stupid, but he really doesn't care. 

He kisses back. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This summer has been stupid busy with family commitments and moving. Apologies for the lack of updates. I haven't forgotten our boys.

The third time, it’s weird.

They’ve settled into this strange place that Misha actually loves.

Nothing has changed and everything has.

They still joke and laugh and argue on set. Jensen still steals Misha's tea when his coffee runs out and leans against him when he's tired and Misha still watches him when Jensen isn't paying attention. Jensen and Jared still fuck with him and he still exchanges long looks with Jensen when the kid got a little too hyperactive before deciding if he would play up Jared’s mood or help Jensen reel him in.

They were still friends. If anything they were  _ better _ friends.

But occasionally. Every once in awhile, Jensen would glance at him and Misha would see the same searing heat he'd seen when he came on Jay’s face. He'd snag Misha's arm and Mish would remember the hot  _ full  _ feeling of his fingers inside him.

And he knew Jensen felt it too.

He saw it in the way Jensen lingered in his trailer and the way his voice dipped, a little too warm. It's the way he murmurs Misha's name in greeting that sends shivers down his spine and the way he brushes against him, purposeful, on set.

They still haven't talked about it. There was one moment he tried and Jen's eyes got wide and panicky and he made excuses to stay away from Misha for two days.

After that, Misha didn't push. Two accidents meant  _ something  _ but he was willing to wait for Jensen to make the next move. And he did.

_ You should come over.  _ It is said casually on set and Misha glances at him, trying to read the meaning under the words.

“Jared’s going out with Gen and I’m gonna be bored alone,” he adds.

He goes still and watch Jensen, watch the lazy green bright interest and he swallows hard. Licks his lips and watches heat flare in those eyes.

“Ok.” Misha says.

Stupid. But Misha thinks they've both decided stupid works for them.

Except when he reaches his trailer, Vicki is there, with a bright smile and a bottle of wine.

Misha tilts his head and her smile falters, before her eyes go speculative.

“Jensen wants me to come over.”

Interest flickers for a moment. “Did he finally talk to you?”

He huffs a sigh, put upon anger, and shakes his head, using his closeness to move her back into the trailer. The bottle of wine bumps against his spine as she wraps him in a hug and presses a kiss-- _ hello _ \-- to his lips.

“He’s still playing this as we aren’t talking," he says, when he’s stepped away.

“And you’re ok with that?”

He shrugs. “I am until I’m not.”

Vicki laughs, softly, at that and shrugs. “Want me to stay home?”

He shakes his head and catches her hand, pressing a kiss to the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. It’s almost ridiculous how much he still loves this beautiful, brilliant woman.

“Come with me.”

Which is how they end up sitting on Jensen’s couch, Vicki curled on one side and Jensen lounging on the other, the scattered remains of their dinner on the table in front of them. Jensen’s got one bare foot propped on his knee and it’s distracting the hell outta Misha as the movie plays.

Vicki is half asleep against his arm--she had the best of intentions but a bottle of wine and a little bit of downtime without the baby screaming is doing it’s work to put her under. Misha nudges her softly. “We should go,” he says, throwing a look at Jensen. Something like disappointment flickers there for a moment, gone so quickly that if he hadn’t been watching for it, he would have missed it.

“No,” Vicki mumbles, lurching up to kiss Misha’s cheek. “Stay. Jen, ok if I use the guest room?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Even startled and wide eyed with worry, Jensen is a polite Texas boy. His mama would be proud.

She smiles at him and drags herself off the couch. Misha watches her, acutely aware of Jensen at his side as she gathers her phone and steals his bottle of water before tripping toward the hall leading to the bedrooms. She pauses and brushes a kiss over Jen's hair.

“Be good,” she murmurs softly, and then she’s gone, and in the ensuing silence, he can hear door shut and the rasp of Jen's gym shorts on the couch as he shifts.

He can feel the heavy gaze full of questions that he's not ready to answer yet so he takes another drink from his lukewarm beer and focuses on the movie.

Let him wonder, for once.

It lasts for maybe one scene. Until the disturbingly violent girl with unnaturally perky tits falls into the broody general of the opposing army and they proceed to have rough messy sex that feels more like a battle than sex.

Jensen shifts next to him and Misha glances at him. “Spit it out, Jen. You're practically choking on it.”

He frowns and Misha smiles, lazy.

“Vicki knows,” he says, not quite a question. Misha laughs and shifts up. In a move smoother than Jensen can follow he's on his knees and straddling Jen, dipping down to run chapped lips up Jensen's throat. “Do you think I'd keep it from her? She's my wife, Jen.”

He blinks and Misha straighten. “You're an idiot.” he says, and then he kisses him.

It's  _ weird. _

Jensen is tense and sober and neither of them are riding any emotions. The kiss is light, almost chaste, except that Jensen is sprawled under him, and Misha’s very sure about what he wants today.

Still. For now, he keeps it light, tiny licks at Jensen’s plush mouth, tracing the full lower lip and raking his teeth over it to produce a full body shudder. He smiles into the kiss and settles his weight down, into Jensen and it earns him a deep groan. Misha’s nails dig into Jensen's shoulders--and when the hell did he grab his shoulders--ands he pulls away.

“If you talked to me after we fucked,” he says, conversational while Jen's eyes bug out, “you'd know this is OK with her. That you always have been.”

His mouth opens to argue again and Misha leans in, kissing him again, rolling his hips down, into Jensen and this time he groans, into Jen’s mouth, and Jensen licks it up, eats it straight from his mouth with teeth and lips and tongue, grabbing Misha’s hips and pulling him closer, rutting against him until Misha is groaning and riding him as they make out like fucking teenagers. Which is great but.

“Jensen,” Misha murmurs into his mouth. Jay makes a noise that's almost a question and Misha laughs softly. Pulls away and Jay whines, chasing his mouth. “Jensen,” he repeats, waiting until Jensen blinks at him, slightly dazed. “Want you to fuck me, Jensen,” Misha murmurs.

“Fuck, Misha,” he hisses and shoves Misha off him. For a moment, Misha stands there, his hair a mess, hard in his jeans and more than a little off balance.

Jensen tilts his hips up and wiggles out of his shorts and boxers and  _ ooohh. _

It's almost embarrassing how quickly Misha strips out of his jeans and then Jen is jerking him by the hips back into Jensen's lap and  _ Jesus. _

Jensen groans as he grinds down against him, and fumbles to wrap a hand around both their dicks. It's a little dryer than Misha prefers but it's Jensen  _ Ackles,  _ naked and jacking them off.

Misha leans forward, biting lightly at Jensen’s neck before he fumbles for the coat he discarded on the couch when they first got here.

He makes a low, pleased noise when he finds the small bottle of lube he slid there before he left home.

Jensen laughs, just a little, when Misha pops back up over him, lube held up like a prize, and takes it from him.

They don't speak, as Misha tips forward and Jensen reaches down, a cool wet finger circling and stroking over him, teasing. They don't speak when Jensen pushes one finger in knuckle deep and Misha gives this noise that makes Jen's eyes darken and his kiss bruisingly hard.

They don't speak when Jensen adds a second finger and Misha’s hips roll, riding those long blunt fingers as his breath goes short and choppy and delicious.

They don't talk when Jensen adds a third finger and Misha’s head drops down into the crook of his neck, lips pressing quick frantic kisses as he rides those fingers and whines.

They should. Misha  _ knows _ they should. There is so much to say and this is stupid stupid stupid, but he  _ wants _ to much to argue.

So when he does speak it's to say, “M ready. Please, Jen, I'm ready.”

Even knowing what's coming, he moans when Jensen drags his fingers free, wipes them on his shirt before jerking it off.

He scoots down just a little and for a heartbeat, Misha has bite his lip and force himself still, because Jensen, naked and hard and waiting for him, is too damn much.

Jensen shifts him and Misha reaches for his cock, shifting until it's lined up and then he sinks down. Slow but inexorable, and the groan Jensen gives up is so fucking filthy he flushes.

He's got the man's dick up his ass and he's blushing. What the hell is  _ that? _

Then he bottoms out and Jensen makes a choked noise that sounds like his name but strangled, and he feels so fucking  _ full _ and  _ stretched  _ that it makes Misha dizzy.

For a second all he wants is this. Forever. He can live just like this.

Then Jensen’s fingers dig into his hips and he rocks up and Misha hisses a curse and rocks up, riding him.

It's silent and maybe that's what's strange. There are the choked off gasps, the moans licked out of open mouths, the slap of skin and half formed curses, a strange assortment of noise that makes a melody of sex, but there isn't the steady pleas for more harder faster  _ please. _

There isn't the dark tease of Jensen as Misha falls apart. There is only Jensen's gaze, too heavy, and the heat of his cock as it fills him, the bright white pleasure and the pinprick pleasure of his nails on Misha's hips, the drag of his cock on Jen's belly when he leans down and kisses him hard and desperate and sloppy.

They're silent and Misha knows it's because if he speaks, something ridiculously inappropriate will come out.

Something like,  _ stay.  _ And  _ mine. _ And something that sound suspiciously like  _ love you. _

He swivels his hips and Jensen gasps under him, breathes his name and his neck is there, arched and gorgeous and begging to be bitten. Misha leans down and licks over the sweaty skin and Jensen groans, snapping his hips up and reaching down for Misha's cock.

He bites without ever deciding to. The groan it earns him is so filthy his cock jerks in Jen’s grasp and he whimpers.

“Gonna mark me up, Mish? Let everyone know I've been fucked?”

There's a taunt in his voice that is so fucking close to the truth it makes him ache. He digs in a little harder and Jensen almost purrs, fucking into him slow and sensual now.

“Want you to,” he whispers.

He wants to be marked. The thought and those lazy strokes and the warm heat wrapped around his cock--It's too much. He moans into the skin of Jen’s chest and gives it up, coming hot wet white across his belly and Jen hisses. His grip on Misha’s hips are hard enough that he'll have his own marks tomorrow and that thought makes him smile into the crook of his  neck as Jensen fucks Misha, hard and brutal and comes with a snarled curse, catching Misha by the hair and dragging him up for a kiss that is almost violent. And Misha takes it. Slack with pleasure and the endorphins crashing through him and utterly content to be pulled wherever Jen wants to go.

It soothes the sharp edge of Jensen's temper and they collapse, wet and sore and bruised on Jensen's couch.

They stay that way for a long time, which is also weird. One of them usually bolts or passes out.

But it's silent, except for harsh breathing that slows and steadies.

Finally.

“Misha? What are we doing?”


End file.
